Naval Investigations
by Desmothene
Summary: The NCIS team is investigating a crime scene, when a teenager who we all know and love bursts in... through the closet, which Abbey finds immensely funny . Attempts to arrest him are foiled, mostly because he is currently pointing a gun at Gibbs' head.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This is the first story I've written for fanfiction, but I've put a lot of time and effort into it, so it should be decent. There aren't very many Alex Rider/NCIS crossovers, so I thought I would start there. I love reading fanfiction, and I'm thrilled that I'm finally posting my own! Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.~**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, all attempts to adopt Alex Rider have been foiled. And regrettably, Gibbs just refuses to really be owned by anyone.**

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* * *

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In a nondescript, ordinary bakery on the seedy side of Paris, France, a group of businessmen had convened in a meeting. Perfectly normal, except for the fact that it wasn't an ordinary bakery, and these were no ordinary businessmen. They were, in fact, some of the most dangerous (and up until recently, some of the most powerful as well) people in the world, and this was the current Paris headquarters of Scorpia, one of the most feared terrorist organizations in the world, albeit their recent humiliations at the hands of one Alex Rider.

They had each entered the bakery, sat down and ordered a bichon au citron. If the baker had told them that he was currently out of that particular pastry, they would have left immediately, because this would have meant that the meeting was insecure and was to be moved to another time and place.

However, everything had proceeded as planned, and they were all now seated around a conference table in the basement of the bakery, which was lavishly furnished with oak paneling, a Persian rug, soft lighting, and a solid mahogany table. Although they had formerly numbered twelve, now only eight men sat around the table, due to a number of recent deaths among their ranks, two of which were credited to Alex Rider.

"I am sure you know the reason why this meeting has been called," the acting head began. His name was Mr. Mikato; his body was rumored to be covered in Yakuza tattoos. "Our last meeting was cut short due to a security breach, which has been taken care of. Before we parted last, I asked you to consider the most efficient way to complete the project we have undertaken. Are there any suggestions?"

"Poison."

"Terrorist bomb." Different members spoke, voicing their opinions. They debated for half an hour on the various pros and cons of the many methods suggested. Finally, the Frenchman made his input; he had been silent for the entire time thus far.

"The fascist group we left in the U.S; it is still there, yes? Why not use them as a scapegoat? We have been distracted by Rider and never got a chance to clean up that project; kill the man we planted to lead it and then make it seem like a member of the group killed the President. In reality, it will be our doing; they will provide an ample cover. With the added benefit of the U.S. government cleaning up the pieces." The other members nodded heads in acknowledgement.

"We are all in agreement then?" Mr. Mikato asked. "Good. There is one more thing to discuss. Alex Rider has been recently sent out on another mission by MI6 in the Washington D.C. area. It is entirely possible that our paths may cross there. We need to clarify our policy on him. I believe that we currently have an agreement with MI6 to leave the boy alone. However, he cannot be allowed to endanger the project. Therefore, I suggest that, should we encounter him, we kill him on sight. You are not to kill him in a way more pleasing or profitable to yourself. We all remember the fates of Mrs. Rothman and Major Yu, yes? We are aware of the danger in giving him too much time; that was how he escaped before, though it was thought impossible.

"You will shoot him on sight. End of discussion."

* * *

Gibbs strode into the office that morning, slapping the occasional napping head on the way in. "Come on people, we've got a case. We're headed to the scene now. McGee, there is no time to save your Elf-lord self from getting his butt kicked. Hurry up, let's move it." Tony, McGee, and Ziva filed out, bickering as they went.

* * *

During the ride out to the crime scene, Gibbs explained what they knew so far. "Naval Captain Eric Vahgn was found dead this morning at approximately 9:15 a.m. by his six year old son, Joseph."

"Ouch."

"Poor kid."

McGee stayed silent, but was white in the face.

"Captain Vahgn was young, and was potentially going to be promoted into the Navy Seals. Look into that as possible motive for murder."

"Hey Gibbs, is the kid alright?" McGee finally asked.

"Well, would you be 'alright' if you found _your_ dad dead in your house?"

* * *

They arrived at the scene, which was a pleasant–looking house in the suburbs outside of D.C., with a neat hedge and flowerbeds. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the wind as the team made its way up the driveway.

Inside, they climbed the stairs to the master bedroom, where they found the body slumped across the floor. Pools of drying blood had formed around the head and chest.

Ducky walked in the door. "Am I late?" he asked.

"No, we haven't started yet," Gibbs replied. Ducky turned toward the corpse, and knelt to estimate the time of death. "Looks like you were a bit too slow in defending yourself, son. He must have been a quick draw."

Gibbs' head snapped up. Walking quickly over to where Ducky was by the corpse, he said, "You're right. He was reaching for something. He wasn't shot unaware." Gibbs reached in the direction the man had fallen—the nightstand by the bed. Opening the drawer, he found a Colt M1911 semi-automatic pistol inside. "So he was going for the gun. Vahgn knew he was in danger, but he didn't make it, wasn't fast enough. The killer was standing here, by the window. DiNozzo, see if you can find any footprints here." Gibbs examined the window frame. "Look here—there's a very slight amount of dirt on the window ledge."

"So we know the killer came in through the window." Tony came up behind him.

"Dust for fingerprints here. And get this body to the lab," ordered Gibbs.

–_Thump—_

Everyone in the room froze. Ziva walked into the room. "I was checking the rest of the house and—"

"Shhh!" hissed the entire room at her. Gibbs cocked his head, listening intently.

–Thump—

They heard it again, louder this time, coming from the direction of the closet. Pulling out his gun, Gibbs motioned for the others to do the same.

There was a loud crash from the closet, and a low curse. The team tensed as the door opened slowly, and a fair-haired head peered out around it. Had it not been a crime scene, it would have been rather comical.

The head froze as Gibbs yelled, "Come out with your hands up!" Slowly, the person made his way out from behind the closet door, holding his hands in the air.

It was a teenager.

* * *

Alex Rider blinked a little, registering the guns pointing at him. Okay. Scanning the room, he took in the body on the floor and the lettering on the hats of the people in front of him. NCIS. Alex searched his mind for any knowledge he had of this—he guessed it was a government organization, but you never could tell with assassins these days. Nope, nothing.

There were three men and a woman, only one man didn't seem to have a gun. Then one man spoke. He had gray, almost white, hair, and seemed to be in charge. "Come out with your hands up!" he ordered.

Alex considered his options. For now, it would be best to just play along with their demands. His mind wandered back to how he had gotten into this situation.

He had been on your standard, run-of-the-mill mission. You know, go undercover, sneak around, eventually be discovered, possibly kill someone, destroy the enemy's plans, etc. Alex had been investigating an extreme patriot group that was based just outside of D.C. MI6 had identified them as a possible threat to England. They believed that America had the best way of life and that America should take control of the world for the good of all. Inside their headquarters, he had found a secret passage (corny, right?) and he had decided to see where it led.

And he had ended up here, in a nice-looking bedroom with all the amenities (nightstand, full bath, dresser, closet, lamps, etc.), but was marred by the body lying in a pool of blood.

Stepping out from behind the door, Alex raised his hands in the air. He could tell that they were a little shocked at the fact that he was a teen, and he could use that to his advantage. He didn't even consider the option of going along with them quietly; there was a large chance his cover would be blown.

Pulling out a pair of hand-cuffs, the white-haired man said, "You are under arrest as a suspect in a murder investigation, and for being found at the scene of the crime. You have the right to remain silent."

Oh crap. But he kept his face blank, free of all emotion. And as the man, who was most likely a cop, neared him, Alex made his move.

* * *

It was rather odd to find a teen at a crime scene. Luckily, he seemed to be cooperating, and Gibbs took out his handcuffs while telling the kid why he was being arrested. What was even more odd was that the kid wasn't showing any emotion; he was being arrested, yet not even a flicker passed across his face.

The teen moved so fast Tony barely saw it, except for a blur of motion. In a second, the situation had flipped. The kid was now holding Gibbs' own gun to his head.

"I think it's time for me to go," he said quietly. The kid's voice was nearly as emotionless as his face, displaying only a slight tinge of irritation. It was a voice that showed how dangerous the owner was, and the ease with which he could kill. "You won't stop me, unless you want your boss here to get hurt." He gestured toward Gibbs.

Tony and Ziva glanced at Gibbs—he looked perfectly calm, but his eyes showed how angry he was at being held hostage by a teenager. Ducky had managed to slip out of the room and was informing the officers downstairs of the situation. The house would be surrounded soon.

But the teen was already backing towards the window, taking Gibbs with him. He opened the window. Gibbs' eyes were furious now, and he yelled at them, "Get him, dammit!"

Tony made as if to intercept the kid, but Ziva put an arm in front of him. Smiling (It was really more of a grimace), the teen said, "Good decision. Bye." With one swift movement he let go of Gibbs and jumped out the window, landing on his feet like a cat.

Tony and Ziva rushed over to Gibbs and the window. The kid was already sprinting down the road. Gibbs swore and grabbed the radio. "There's a boy running away from the house. I want him arrested, _now!_" He turned to Ziva and Tony. "Come on, we're going after him."

When Gibbs was in a mood like this, no one questioned orders. As they came out of the house, they saw two of the more fit officers close in on the teen.

"They've got him," Tony said confidently—but was proven wrong in a matter of seconds.

When the officers cut in front of him, the teen didn't even pause. He lashed out, incapacitating both officers in three hits. Gibbs swore again, and ran to the car. Ziva and Tony barely made it in, and McGee was left behind, having been unable to reach the car in time.

In the car, there was a heated discussion (a.k.a. argument) about what had happened back at the crime scene.

"Why didn't you two get the kid?" Gibbs' voice sounded calm, but Tony and Ziva knew better.

"He would've shot you, sir," Ziva said quietly.

"No, he would not have."

"Yes he would have, Gibbs, and you know it. You heard his voice. No emotion. He wouldn't have hesitated for a second." _And his eyes,_ she added silently. _They were blank. So empty, apart from a faint spark of irritation that tells you he's actually alive. _

Gibbs was silent. The car was silent for a few moments, until Tony spoke up.

"What makes a kid turn into that?"

No one answered. The Gibbs spotted a teen standing on a street corner, examining the cars and pedestrians ambling by. It was him, fair hair falling in front of his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets, the stereotypical teenager.

"Hey Tony, why don't you ask him yourself? He's right there." Gibbs pointed at the boy, speeding up at the same time. Now, they could see the sharp brown eyes that sighted them, and the faintly defined, wiry muscles as they smoothly slid into motion. Gibbs hit the gas, determined not to lose him again.

What followed was a two hour-long chase through the suburbs. Tony came up with a wisecrack that earned him a slap: "I think we've developed a new game: Suburban Long-distance hide-and-seek."

"How long can this kid keep going? What is he, a marathon runner? You know, maybe we should write down all the questions we have for him."

"Good idea Tony. You do that."

_(A few minutes later)_

"Shit, we lost him again." They were in a downtown area, shops lining the streets and pedestrians bustling in and out. Ziva said, "We are never going to find him in here." Gibbs refused to give up, driving them around in circles for another hour. Finally Tony commented.

"Wow. Did I miss something in school? Gun Disarming and Evasion Tactics?"

* * *

Back at the crime scene, McGee whined at them for leaving him behind. Finally, Gibbs got impatient and interrupted him.

"McGee, did you do anything useful while we were gone?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," McGee said smugly. "We managed to lift prints off the window sill, and found a gun on the ground beneath it. It's the same type of gun we u—"

"It _is_ one of our guns, Probie."

"Tony, I understand that you need to make fun of me to make yourself fee—wait, what?" McGee registered what Tony had just said.

"That's right, you weren't there. He disarmed G—whoops, tell you later," he whispered, noticing Gibbs' glare.

"Hey, wh—oh." McGee had noticed too.

"So he left the gun behind," Gibbs stated. "There should be prints on that. Check for any other prints in the bedroom. Make sure you don't miss anything. We're headed over to the lab in half an hour."

* * *

Gibbs walked into Abbey's lab holding a cup of Caff-Pow!, with McGee following behind him carrying the evidence.

"Hey Gibbs! Whatcha got for me?" Spotting the Caff-Pow!, she snatched the cup out of his hand. "Thank you!"

"We weren't able to collect much evidence from the scene. The perpetrator didn't leave us a lot, but we should have enough to work with. We have some fingerprints, footprints, and some dirt found on the window sill." Gibbs gestured at the bag McGee was setting on the table. Abbey peered inside and pulled out a plastic bag containing a gun.

"Why's your gun in here, Gibbs?"

"Because it's evidence."

"What?"

"We found someone at the crime scene. A teenager. Looked about fifteen or sixteen. He actually came out of the closet—"

"He admitted he was gay?" interrupted Abbey. "That has to be a first."

"Not that way. He literally came out of the closet.," Gibbs said, clearly aggravated.

"So where is he?" Abbey asked, searching through the bag again and checking behind Gibbs like the fugitive was hiding somewhere.

"He got away. But his fingerprints should be on the gun, so run some searches on them, and see what you get." With that, Gibbs left to go see Ducky.

"Why's Gibbs so angry?" Abbey inquired to McGee.

"Probably because he got beat by a teenager." Tony popped into the room, a smug grin on his face. "Probie here can't tell you about it though, 'cause he wasn't there. Where were you, Probie? You missed all the fun. Did you slip out to go play Elf Lord?"

McGee flushed. "NO! I went to the bathroom!"

"For fifteen minutes? Man, you must have really had to—"

"Come on Tony, tell us what happened!" Abbey interrupted.

"Oh… I don't know. Probie doesn't seem very interested in listening to me. I feel unwanted and unloved." Tony put on a sad face and made as if to leave.

"Don't you dare leave now. You have to tell us what happened! McGee will stay quiet," Abbey said, grabbing Tony's arm to prevent him from leaving.

"I might, if you—"

"When Gibbs started to handcuff him, the boy disarmed him, then turned the gun on Gibbs and used him as a hostage to get himself out of there. He jumped out of the second floor window and ran. We chased him around in the car for a few hours, but he escaped." Ziva stood framed in the doorway, arms folded.

"Aww, come on Ziva, you're no fun. You gotta keep them hanging for a while!" Tony protested.

After being informed, Abbey and McGee's eyes had grown wide. Abbey was quite distressed. "But Gibbs _never_ lets people push him around like that! Nobody beats Gibbs!" She bustled around the room, all business now. Abbey shoved them out of the room, saying, "Go back to work. We're going to catch this kid whether he's the murder or not."

* * *

Sitting at her desk, arms folded, Ziva analyzed the actions of the teenager they had encountered earlier today. His movements had been fluid, even graceful, and almost too fast for the eye to follow. The move he had used to disarm Gibbs wasn't taught in any conventional martial arts class. He was obviously experienced, because he moved with a sureness that could only come from such.

Having enough stamina to reach the crowded downtown area wasn't too unusual; most high schoolers participated in some kind of sport. Disappearing so quickly took some skill, however; he was like an assassin, spy, or even an elite in the army. Ziva compared the boy to all the spies, elite forces, assassins, etc, that she had encountered in her life, especially those from when she was an active Mossad spy. Two men stood out as closest in similarity to the boy. One was from the terrorist organization, Scorpia; the other from British MI6.

* * *

Gibbs strode down the hallway to the autopsy room. He was more upset with himself than anyone else for what had happened today. _'You're getting old,'_ a small, insistent voice whispered. _'He caught you by surprise. Maybe it's time to retire, let someone younger take over.'_ Gibbs winced internally and subdued the voice, pushing it into a dark corner, telling it, _'I haven't lost it yet. You'll see. But _if_ the kid beats me, I'll _consider_ retiring."_

When Gibbs walked into autopsy, Ducky was leaning over the body of Captain Vahgn, chatting away to the corpse as he worked.

"That's a nasty scar you've got there. From a bullet, yes? Did you leap in front of a friend, perhaps? Or maybe you were just under heavy enemy fire. But who you might have angered for this to—Ah, Jethro, there you are! I hope you haven't come to any harm since I left you in that sticky situation?"

"Thanks for the concern, but I'm fine," Gibbs replied shortly. "What was the time of death?"

"Eric here died at around 2:30 am, I'd say." Ducky turned around and picked up a Tupperware box. Handing it to Gibbs, he explained, "These are the bullets I extracted from his body. They're unmarked, you know."

Gibbs was quiet, trying to make connections in his head. He only needed a little more… "What made you say he'd angered someone?" he questioned.

"Well, there could be other explanations, Jethro, but look here." Ducky pointed to two holes on the body in the chest and head regions. "Eric was shot twice—once in the forehead and once in the heart. Any shot to those areas can kill—but look at the placement. Both were perfect shots, dead center of the forehead and heart." Ducky looked up at Gibbs, a serious expression on his face. "Jethro, I know it's not my place to speculate on case scenarios, but I would like to tell you my take on it."

"You know I value your opinion," responded Gibbs.

"This wasn't just a murder, Jethro. This was an _assassination_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright. I really must apologize for how long it took me to get this done (both my editors were very busy, though school is out. I actually resorted to having my mom edit). But it's here, and longer than the first chapter, so hopefully that makes up for it? Quality cannot be rushed. I REALLY don't want to post a crappy chapter, especially as this is my first fanfic. **

**Again, apologies. The plot is getting more complicated and it's REALLY REALLY hard to keep it straight. **

**~Desmothene~ (haha, squiggle)**

**Disclaimer: Alex Rider has enough of a problem with MI6 owning him; how do you think he'd react to ME? And Gibbs is Gibbs. Enough said.

* * *

**

"Assassination." Gibbs played with the ideas in his head, quiet for a moment.

"Pay it no mind, Jethro, it's just a silly little theory of mine," Ducky said hurriedly.

"No, that's a reasonable conclusion. The only other explanation would be a point blank shot, meaning there would be footprints closer to the bed; but they barely came inside the window, which is fifteen to twenty feet away from the bed, and it was the middle of the night. So now—"

"Gibbs! There you are!" Tony rushed into the room. "Gibbs, we got another one. Some guy who had served under Captain Vahgn was found dead down by the Potomac River. He's also in the Secret Service. Which is weird; they're supposed to be able to protect the President, but they can't protect themselves."

After losing the car following him, Alex made his way back to the apartment where he was staying. Wiping all traces of the cold-hearted killer from his expression, he mentally prepared himself to play the part of an average teenager, forcing a slight smile onto his face. He heard banging from the kitchen as he let himself in, and mentally groaned. Standing in the doorway, he watched as his 'father' attempted to make spaghetti and meatballs. He was about to go help when he noticed the book Ben was holding—_Cooking for Dummies._ Barely containing his laughter, Alex hid outside the kitchen and continued to watch. Ben would notice that the spaghetti sauce or meatballs were burning just in time, but when the spaghetti pot boiled over it was obvious he needed help. Stepping in, Alex was struck by how much Ben reminded him of Jack sometimes; the thought almost made him choke up, but he got himself under control.

"I could have handled it," Ben protested.

"It was boiling over, Ben. I don't understand how you survived the SAS. The only thing you must have eaten was that slop they call food."

"Actually, Snake cooked for us fairly often," Ben replied, then muttered under his breath, "God, do I miss his pancakes."

"So why were you attempting to cook anyways? I can take care of it."

"You weren't home yet, and, well, I wanted to help out a little 'cause you're always doing all the work. Where were you anyways?"

"Um—around. D.C. has a nice shopping district." Alex tried to think of something to change the subject to. He didn't want Ben to know he had followed him to the 'club'.

The two of them were undercover in Washington, D.C., as a divorced former Navy Seals officer and his 16-year-old son. They kept relatively the same names because it was just simpler. Hopefully, Benjamin and Alexander Breyger wouldn't raise too much suspicion from Bellum Patriae [War for the Homeland], the fascist group that Ben was going to infiltrate. Supposedly Alex was to befriend the children of the men who had joined. Deciding to follow Ben to his "initiation ceremony" had been quick—he needed to know where Ben was in case his cover was blown. Alex had intended to leave after he knew the location, but he had seen a high-ranking U.S. government official walk into a side door—Assistant to the Secretary of Defense. Curiosity getting the better of him, Alex had slipped inside behind him.

After investigating for a while, he had discovered the passage down in the basement. It had led him straight to a crime scene. That had been quite a shook, but nothing he couldn't handle. Unfortunately, Ben wouldn't think so; therefore he needed to avoid telling him if at all possi—

" 'Around' wouldn't happen to mean the Bellum Patriae headquarters, would it?" Ben asked innocently. Alex stuttered and mumbled something under his breath. Ben smiled. "I thought I saw those puppy eyes of yours peering around a corner." His face grew serious as he continued. "And if I did then somebody else could have. What were you thinking? You have your own job to be doing—prying info out of those kids. On top of that, you could've blown my cover! You know better, idiot."

"No one ever suspects the kid. That's why I exist, remember? I could've said my father was in there—that he had left me to wait for him," he retorted coldly. Alex didn't say anything about needing to know where Ben was in case something happened; he didn't acknowledge it himself. Slamming the kitchen door behind him, Alex stalked off to his room.

In the last couple missions assigned to Alex, he'd been paired with Ben, and the man had slowly become the fatherly figure he'd never had. But anyone he'd ever loved had died—he couldn't let it happen again.

_Alex was racing down an empty hallway flinging doors open as he went, searching, for the antidote, the solution. He had to save Jack, lying in the hospital, an unknown poison creeping through her veins, weakening her, _killing_ her._

_Tom, found lying at death's door, but still having the strength to apologize to Alex, though his accusing eyes bored into Alex's skull. 'This wouldn't have happened, were it not for you… It's all your fault,' they seemed to say. _

_Sabina. Tortured before his eyes, she had been nearly unrecognizable by the time she died. He saw her body again now, limbs bent in unnatural positions, blood matting her hair. _

Alex lurched into an upright position, shaking and sweating. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth from where he had bitten his tongue to keep himself from screaming.

Calming his breathing, he slumped back against the pillows. Ever since they had died, he had been having nightmares; although, considering what he had gone through, it wasn't that odd. This one had been worse than most.

When MI6 had taken full guardianship of him, Alex had been sent to a psychiatrist. He never had a second appointment. The psychiatrist had ended up in the hospital with a broken nose and a fractured hand.

Everyone dies. So why should he get close to someone again? Especially when those around him tended to die sooner than most. Ben had grown a little too close. Alex needed to watch himself, or it would happen again, and this time his mind would shatter.

As he dragged himself out of bed, he sighed. There was no way he'd be able to sleep now. Glancing out the window, he estimated the time to be roughly 7:45 P.M. Alex had gone to bed early on an empty stomach around five, in order to avoid Ben.

After his escapade today, there was no way Ben would let him out of the house. Wandering over to his window, Alex peered out, checking for a fire escape. There wasn't one; he already knew that. But there was a ledge, about six inches wide and five feet beneath his window, running across the side of the building toward a drainpipe.

_(insert line here)_

Ben Daniels sighed as Alex stalked into his room. He was always so withdrawn, rarely letting his true emotions show, ever since Jack had died. Well, at least right now he was acting like a teenager. Alex could be damn scary when he wanted to be; hell, he was even when he didn't realize it. Ben knew he had been through a lot—he'd been there right alongside Alex for some of it. By now, Alex could kill without batting an eye, and that was what scared Ben most. It wasn't right—a 16-year-old should _not_ have to be a killer. Although he had never yet killed an innocent, Alex was almost getting to the point of killing for no reason.

Even though he didn't receive a gun on missions, Alex nearly always found one, or the people he fought died from crushed carotid arteries, broken necks, and nasal bones puncturing the brain. MI6 would be in trouble if he ever turned; he blamed his enemies for killing Jack, but he blamed MI6 more for not protecting her.

Ben sighed again. He didn't need to be thinking about this right now. Sitting down at the table, he began to eat, filling out forms between bites. Alex had been enrolled in a local school to ensure their cover was complete and to befriend the children of the men who Ben was currently associating with. Not that he'd even attended today.

Later that evening, around eight, Ben stood up and knocked on Alex's bedroom door. "Alex!" he called. "Come out. You need to eat." No response. "Alex?" Silence from behind the door. "Alex, I'm coming in." Ben opened the door and… No Alex.

A crisp fall breeze blowing against his skin alerted him to the fact that the window was open. Ben took one look and knew what had happened.

Shit.

_(insert line here)_

Wandering through the city streets, Alex had tried to distract his mind from the gruesome images lodged firmly in front of his eyes. Pedestrians had admonished him for pushing past them, but he hadn't cared. He had just kept walking, constantly moving.

That was how he'd ended up at the river. "_The Potomac,"_ Alex thought, dredging up the name from former missions. There was something peaceful, almost calming, about it. Until he looked five hundred feet to the left, where a large crowd of people were milling around outside of the yellow caution tape blocking off the area. A sense of morbid curiosity filled Alex. "_Who died now?"_ he wondered dully, for the size of the crowd said it couldn't be anything less. Walking over slowly, he looked around for a spot that was less crowded. When Alex reached the edge of the tape, he tried to reign in his emotions before taking a look at the scene.

The body of a well-dressed businessman was lying half in the river, a bullet hole squarely between his eyes. It wasn't a face he truly recognized, just another fact memorized: Daniel Concerri, Executive Secretary of Defense. The unknown-but-known face triggered a flood of memories of other people and faces, also frozen in death, which he had been trying to hold back. Those _he _had killed, and those killed because of him flickered before his eyes.

_So many… So many dead, because of him. _

_But more would have died if you hadn't killed. _

He had to remember that; he had to weigh the price of one life versus one million. Many had been the scum of the earth, had deserved to die, but each death was a blow to his conscience, his sanity; so he had hardened himself, in the name of self-preservation.

As Alex stared unseeingly at the dead body on the riverbank, he didn't notice how the spectators were slowly herded away from him, or the mixture of cops and NCIS agents that swiftly surrounded him.

"Put your hands up!" The command fell on deaf ears, but his subconscious must have heard it, for now he was back in the blood-soaked bedroom this morning, on the edge of killing an innocent man.

A hand roughly grabbing his arm broke him out of his trance, and on instinct, Alex's body spun into action.

_(insert line here)_

Ziva would have thought that after today's little dance the boy would have laid low for a while, but here he was at another crime scene. For some reason, he didn't even notice the cops as they surrounded him. Ziva felt oddly disappointed. She had expected better from him.

When the boy didn't move after an officer shouted, "Put your hands up!", Gibbs had sent Ziva in. She was unarmed; it would be too easy for the kid to turn it against her. Approaching him from behind, Ziva reached out and grabbed his arm.

She had seen his speed earlier, but Ziva was still caught off-guard by the swiftness of his movements. Reacting immediately, he spun, throwing a punch with his unrestricted arm. Ziva barely had time to block. He followed up with a knee to the arm, causing her to release him. She attacked before he could get out of range with a quick jab to his solar plexus, which he promptly blocked.

"_He's good,"_ she thought grudgingly. Then she looked at his eyes, and saw a person so different from the boy in the bedroom, she nearly stopped in shock. Before he had been emotionless; now his eyes were tortured, filled with more pain than she had seen in a long time.

Suddenly the boy had a knife in his hand, about five inches long. Ziva assumed he had had it concealed somewhere in his clothes. She needed to get rid of the knife.

Lunging forward, the boy stabbed the knife towards her stomach. _Bad move. _Ziva dodged, grabbed hi outstretched arm, and twisted it so he dropped the knife. Using his momentum to throw him forward, she knocked him unconscious with a blow to the base of the skull. The boy fell to the ground and Ziva quickly handcuffed him. She straightened up, breathing slightly harder than normal.

_(insert line here)_

The moment the kid had pulled out a knife, Tony cocked his gun, only to find Gibbs' hand resting on the gun, refraining him from shooting. Giving Tony a meaningful glare, he shook his head in a silent 'no.'

"Why? She's gonna get hurt!" Tony protested.

"If you shoot you could hit her. Trust her, DiNozzo."

Turning back, they were just in time to see Ziva disarm and knockout the boy.

_(insert line here)_

Alex groaned as his vision slowly came back to him, and ran through the events leading up to his less-than-graceful defeat and subsequent knockout. _Stupid. You know you aren't as good with a knife as you are at hand-to-hand combat. _

Suddenly, he became aware of a head peering down at him. Coming out of unconsciousness was never a pleasant experience, and there tended to be unfriendly (what an understatement) person waiting for him; every muscle in his body screamed 'Escape!'

Slamming backwards, Alex tried to put some distance between himself and the man. His momentum was halted abruptly, flipping off the cot he had been laying on. He glared down at the handcuff fastening his wrist to the cot.

Seeing motion out of the corner of his eye, his head snapped up, and he warily eyed the man standing a little to the side.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you," the man said, holding his hands in the air in a placating manner. Alex stood up and reseated himself cautiously on the cot, watching the man all the while.

The man was young, probably in his thirties, with short brown hair and tanned skin. He seemed extremely confident in himself, but was nervous around Alex at the same time. Alex still didn't know exactly what they wanted, so it was better to keep quiet for now.

_(insert line here)_

Tony sighed. This kid was a wack job; he acted almost animalistic. Currently the kid was settling tensed on the cot, watching his every move. Tony really wanted to hit the kid for what he'd done so far, but that probably wasn't a good idea; they needed him to trust them. Good luck with that. The kid wouldn't even let them near him. Oh well, first things first, he needed to know the kid's name.

"So, what's your name, kid?"

The boy had relaxed visibly and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Why do you care?" he asked.

"We need to contact your parents to alert them to the fact that you are in our custody. They can get you a lawyer. And I need something to call you besides 'kid'," Tony responded.

"I don't need a lawyer," the kid retorted. Then a thoughtful look crossed his face. Considering for a moment, he spoke again. "You can call me Ash."

"Really? I would've thought you looked more like an Alex. You don't want a lawyer? That makes things easier. First of all, why were you in that closet?" Tony threw back at him.

"I was looking for monsters."

"Did you see who killed Captain Vahgn? Because the murderer is the real monster."

"Was that the dead guy in the house or the one in the river?"

"House." Tony held a photo of Vahgn up in front of 'Ash.'

"I've never seen him before this morning."

"How did you get in the house?"

"Magic."

Tony was growing more irritated now, but he held it in check. One more question. "Where do you live?"

"Everywhere and nowhere."

This time, Tony nearly exploded. "You want to play that way? Alright, we'll do it your way." Standing up, he stalked out of the containment cell, and went to find Gibbs.

_(insert line here)_

Abbey smiled as she watched her computer screen. "Got him," she said, satisfied. She had run the prints she found on Gibbs' gun through their criminal database, but hadn't found a file on the kid. Checking the military database had gotten her results.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Abbey whirled around to see Gibbs walking in with Tony following behind him. "Gibbs! Right on time! Did you know Alex goes to a military school? He just moved to the D.C. area too, and his father was in the Navy. But what's really wei—"

"Slow down, Abbey. Who are you talking about?" Gibbs interrupted.

"You know, Alex." Seeing their still-dumbfounded expressions, she elaborated. "That kid sitting in one of out detainment rooms? Who we've been chasing around all day?

"You mean Ash?" Tony piped up.

"No, Alex."

"You said his name was Ash, DiNozzo," Gibbs said pointedly to Tony.

"Well, the kid lied, because I have his records, and his name is _Alex,_" Abbey said, ending the argument. In the background, Tony quietly celebrated. "I knew it!"

"So he has a criminal record," Gibbs assumed.

"No, his school takes fingerprints from all its students. The school records say Alex just moved here a month ago, and his grades are decent. Last name is Breyger. Father: single; name: Benjamin Breyger."

"What's Breyger's phone number?"

"301-513-6937."

"DiNozzo, call Alex's father and have him come in here."

_(insert line here)_

Sitting at his desk in the bullpen, McGee ran the treads from the footprints they had found at the house through the database. They already knew that the boy's shoe size didn't match the treads found at the house. In fact, as his computer was now showing him, the treads found at the scene were left by a pair of women's Nikes, size eleven—definitely not what Alex would have been wearing.

As he leaned back in his chair, McGee sighed. Everyone was so preoccupied with Alex, that the murders weren't getting quite as much attention as they should. He felt like he was the only one actually working on the case.

"Hello?"

McGee looked up to see a man who looked to be roughly in his forties, with short black hair brushed with silver, smiling hesitantly at him. Contrary to his smile, dark eyes examined McGee sharply, giving McGee an unsettled feeling in his stomach.

"Can I help you?" inquired McGee.

Straitening slightly, the man said, "I was told that my son was being held by NCIS. A man named Leroy Gibbs is supposed to be in charge of him. Are you Mr. Gibbs?"

"No, I work for him. You can call me McGee. You must be Mr. Breyger." McGee stood up to shake the man's hand. "Gibbs is with Alex right now. I'll take you to see them now."

_(insert line here) _

Leaning back in the metal chair, Alex waited for someone to come and question him. He had been brought to this interrogation room over fifteen minutes ago. Apparently they were trying to make him nervous, but that wasn't going to happen.

Alex was irritated. Although he was mostly angry at himself, he was also getting impatient with the people holding him here. He was doing his best to keep his cool, especially after all the mistakes he had made earlier. Drawing on his (rather large) accumulation of knowledge about stressful situations, Alex closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and steadily, listening to the rhythm of his heart.

After a few more minutes, the door opened, and the man with silver-gray hair strode in. He dropped a file down on the table and sat down confidently across from Alex. He spoke.

"Hello, Alex. You've been giving us a lot of trouble."

"I said my name was Ash."

"We know perfectly well that your name isn't Ash, Alex. We have your school file. Your name is Alex Breyger."

"So you know my name. Big deal. Now what?" _Let him think he knows who I am. Let him think he beat me. It makes it so much easier to deceive them about the important things. _Alex could tell that the man was angry. This might be a problem. Alex had a bad habit of antagonizing the people who were holding him against his will.

"How about you tell me why you were at our crime scene? A man was murdered, and you might know something that could help us catch his killer."

"How about you tell me what _your_ name is first?" Alex countered. "And while you're at it, you can remind me what 'NCIS' stands for."

"Naval Criminal Investigative Services. When a marine or other naval officer dies under suspicious circumstances, it's our job to find out why. I'm Special Agent Gibbs. And it's my crime scene that you've compromised. Answer the question."

Alex was silent for a second, then asked, "Who was the man that died? At the house?"

"Eric Vahgn."

Feeling his eyes widen, Alex quickly hid his shock. That was the name of the man who led the fascist faction he and Ben were infiltrating.

* * *

**Okay, if anyone can tell me the real name of the current Executive Secretary of Defense, I promise I will get the next chapter out in under a month. Because I spent an hour searching for the stupid guy, and NOTHING. So I made up a name, though the position actually exists. They have the names of almost every other important position, but NO. This one isn't anywhere I could find (admittedly, my searching skills aren't that great. And I don't have any government contacts, so...). **

**It's lovely to see people review, but don't feel pressured.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok, so here's the next chapter. I'm really really really sorry for the long delay, there's not really any excuse. It's shorter than normal, and I'm sorry for that too. I hope this one is as good as the rest. **

* * *

"_Eric Vahgn."_

_Feeling his eyes widen, Alex quickly adjusted to hide his shock. That was the name of the man who led the fascist faction he and Ben were infiltrating. _

_

* * *

_

Watching Alex's reaction to the name, Gibbs' first thought was, '_He's a professional.' _The boy—who didn't _truly_ act like a boy, though it was a close thing—showed next to no facial expression, only a slight widening of brown eyes, before responding. He paused just long enough to not sound suspicious. _But he obviously knows the man._

"Never heard of him. Who was he?" Alex remarked casually—too casually for having seen the man's dead body.

"A marine, soon to be up for promotion. He had a wife and son; they deserve justice. Which is why I need too ask again—Why were you at his house? What do you know about how he died? Because I think you _do_ know something, and I don't like being in the dark, Alex." _Even though he's only a boy, it's not unheard of. After all, Ziva's father was training her as an assassin when she was a child younger than this kid. _

"What, are you afraid, Agent Gibbs?" The boy's grin turned almost predatory as he leaned forward. "You should be." Alex leaned back once more, a vapid, airhead teenager once more, and a playful smirk appeared on his face. "Because there _are_ monsters out there. But I'll tell you a secret—"

"—the scariest ones hide in plain sight," Gibbs interrupted, completing the sentence for him. "You don't do a job like mine without realizing that, Alex."

"Then you know more than most people do."

"Well then, between two people who know more than most, _what the hell were you doing at my crime scene?_" Gibbs demanded.

"Only God knows," replied Alex, with an entirely straight face.

_

* * *

_

As soon as Alex heard Vahgn's full name, he mentally slapped himself. They'd practically been shouting it at him for the last few hours. How could he be so stupid?

Alex avoided giving Agent Gibbs a single straight answer as he debated with himself about what to do next. Both Vahgn and the Executive Secretary of Defense were dead. Supposedly Vahgn was the head of Bellum Patriae; perhaps the group would disband now, but personally Alex doubted it. Political parties (public or underground) are extremely tenacious creatures and have the unfortunate ability to regenerate limbs. The fact that the Executive Secretary died after Vahgn suggested that Bellum Patriae was alive and kicking.

But why was Vahgn dead? Was there conflict within the group, or had someone from outside killed him? Deciding he didn't have enough information and needed to contact Ben was easy; doing it was another matter.

Finally, Alex answered one last question (The same one, really. No originality) with a sarcastic, "Only God knows," and proceeded to hum the tune to 'It's My Life' by Bon Jovi, ignoring all further questions.

At last, the door opened, and a younger man Alex hadn't seen earlier peered inside.

"Hey boss, Alexander's dad is here."

Waving a hand a McGee, Gibbs reopened fire on Alex.

"Here's the thing, Alex. We could arrest you three times over. We've got on armed and unarmed assault of multiple police officers and two NCIS agents, resisting arrest, obstruction of justice—do you want me to continue? You're looking at anywhere from two to five years in a juvenile detention center; if you're tried as an adult, it could be twenty." He paused for a moment, and then continued. "But you have something we want, and we have something you want. So let's make a trade. You tell us what we want to know—no holding back—and we can cut your sentence, maybe even drop charges. But it all depends on what you give us. It's your call, Alex. But I will get to the bottom of this, with or without you."

After that uncharacteristically long speech, Gibbs left the room, leaving the ultimatum and Alex.

_

* * *

_

Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva watched as Mr. Breyger entered the interrogation room and sat down across from his son.

"They don't look related," Tony commented. "I bet he's adopted."

"He could just look take after his mother," Ziva argued.

"Twenty bucks says he's adopted."

"Taken."

They focused on Alex and his father's conversation, which started out normal enough. Mr. Breyger sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Al, why are you here?"

"Because they found me in this house where some guy was killed and decided I was a suspect in a murder investigation," replied Alex candidly.

Obviously exasperated, Mr. Breyger said, "Well, why were you there?"

"There was a crowd of people staring at something and I was curious. So I went to check it out."

"He didn't say anything about the house, or the fight," whispered Ziva. Tony whispered back, "So he omits and lies. But we already knew that… Why are we whispering again?"

Suddenly, Alex spoke again—but not in any language they could understand.

"交換對漢語。我需要與您私下談話。**"**

Looking a bit surprised, Breyger responded, but in English. "Aw, come on Al, why not something else?" Those listening were a bit more shocked.

"What the hell did he just say?" Gibbs demanded to Ziva.

"Wait a moment. I need to hear him speak again." Falling silent, they all listened intently to whatever Alex was saying.

"很难说與 Mossad**,"** he said cryptically.

"He said Mossad. Does he know?" Ziva worried.

"Ziva, what else did he say?" Gibbs asked urgently.

"I… I do not know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"It is not a language I understand. Though, it sounds Asian."

"Make sure this is being recorded. Send a copy of the dialogue to Abbey for analysis."

"Gibbs, are we just going to let them keep talking? We have no idea what they're saying! For all we know, they could be plotting to blow up NCIS headquarters," Tony protested, tacking on a bit of sarcasm.

"We'll give them two more minutes."

_

* * *

_

"… **That's what's important. We need to make this fast. I'm guessing the feds are going to intervene soon," **Alex finished off his explanation, having briefed Ben in roughly forty seconds. The language switch enabled them to talk privately, but it might not last long. It was likely that the agents would put a stop the conversation in a minute or two.

"**Since Vahgn is dead, I think our job is done. The U.S. government can clean this up; we'll watch from the sidelines. Just push NCIS in the right direction. Although, I should probably keep my cover in Bellum Patriae," **Ben concluded.

"**You run the risk of being arrested."**

"**Don't worry, I've got it covered."**

"**Good. Now pretend you're angry with me. You know what to do."**

Ben flicked his fingers once in acknowledgement and let his face darken into a scowl.

"Alexander, I can't believe you went looking for trouble like this. Scratch that, I _can_." Raising his voice, he continued. "Your teachers say you've been skipping school, your grades are dropping, you've been getting into fights—and now this? You need discipline, Al, and apparently I haven't been able to give it." He was silent for a moment, and then stood and said quietly, "I can't help you now, Alexander."

With that, he turned and marched to the door, which Gibbs opened for him. As he brushed past, Gibbs said, "I'd like to talk to you, Mr. Breyger."

_

* * *

_

After slipping quietly into the interrogation room, Ziva stopped and leaned back against the door, watching Alex. He was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, and didn't move when she entered. Both were silent for a few moments; Alex spoke first.

"Are you just going to stand there?" he questioned, eyes unopened.

Walking forward, Ziva ignored his question and said, dangerously sweet, "That's an interesting language you were speaking with your father. I did not recognize it. Would you like to tell me what it was?"

"What makes you think you know every language out there? And what the hell is your name anyways? You people sure are rude. I have to ask just for some common courtesy," Alexander retorted.

"My name is Ziva David. But I think what is more important is a word I heard you say earlier—Mossad. Why would you mention them?"

"I think you must be mistaken. Language pronunciation can be confusing to those who are not familiar with them," he smirked. "And, I might be wrong, but aren't you foreign? You have a funny accent."

"You're right. I'm Israeli. However, I am now a citizen of the United States." Ziva wondered why he was pointing this out.

"Then I suppose you're a Mossad agent, if you were so worried about it."

"And what would you know about Mossad?"

"Don't be stupid, I watch T.V."

Deciding to drop the subject, she asked another question. "So, are you adopted, Alexander?" As she watched his face darken and he nodded sharply, Ziva concluded this might be the point of tension between him and his father. "It doesn't sound like he'd be very likely to post bail for you."

Alex laughed. "No, he'd say a stay in jail would straighten me out. Or that it builds character."

"Well, in your situation, perhaps he is right."

"Hmph."

"Are you going to tell me why you were at Mr. Vahgn's house now?" she tried again; perhaps the talk with his father would make him change his mind. Furrowing his brow, Alex seemed to be debating something with himself. Finally, he spoke.

"You know what, screw it. I'm not protecting him anymore."

"So you will tell me?"

"Yeah, I'll tell you."

Waiting patiently for him to begin, Ziva watched as the emotion slowly leaked out of his face, a blank expression taking its place.

"My father hasn't been working for a little while now; but he's gone during the day. I skipped school today, and I saw him leave the house. So I followed him. I wanted to know where he was always going. He didn't take a car; he jogged the whole way."

"Where did he go?"

"Near the river, not far from that guy's house, there is a private office building. Didn't look any different than anything else down there. I went inside and looked around. There was some sort of meeting going on in one of the larger rooms, but I went downstairs. There was a tunnel, which I followed, and I ended up in that closet," he ended simply.

"Really," Ziva said skeptically. _If he's telling the truth…_

"Yes, really. You can go check for yourself. Although, you might need help finding the door in the closet."

"Well then. Thank you very much for your cooperation, Alexander. I just hope, for your own sake, that you aren't pulling my shirt over my eyes."

Opening the door, Ziva heard him call after her, "Don't you mean 'pull the wool over your eyes'?"

* * *

McGee stopped Gibbs before he entered the interrogation room.

"Boss, about the second body found today—it's the Executive Secretary of Defense. We're keeping the press off it for now but the FBI is beginning to dig its claws into it."

"Have Ducky do an autopsy and let them e'm have it. But _make sure_ they pass all information along to us. Keep yourself there, if you have to," Gibbs ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"And check in with Abbey every once in a while. She's going to need you later," Gibbs called over his shoulder.

McGee watched him leave. _Does he know something I don't?_

_Don't be stupid; of course he does. _

_

* * *

_

"Mr. Breyger, it doesn't seem like you are on good terms with your son." Gibbs stated the obvious, beginning the interrogation. "How long has it been like that?"

"Since his mother's death," he replied, meeting Gibbs' eyes.

"Is he adopted?"

"Yes. I married his mother and legally adopted him. He was never very accepting of me. It makes it hard now."

"Mr. Breyger, I was wondering if you knew anything about this man," Gibbs continued, placing a picture of Eric Vahgn in front of him. Breyger glanced down at the photograph.

"No. I've never seen him before."

"Your son was found at the scene of his murder this morning."

"Special Agent Gibbs, my son will have to answer your questions himself. I will be happy to tell you about him—he did seem rather upset tonight—but I do not know anything about this man, Vahgn."

"I can get all the information I need about Alex. Your attitude tells me a lot. I need to know about this man," Gibbs said, jabbing his finger at the picture.

"I told you I don't know anything. I think we're done here, Agent Gibbs." Breyger stood up abruptly and exited the room, leaving Gibbs sitting at the table. He didn't make a move to stop him.

_

* * *

_

Tony was reclining at his desk when Abbey rushed out of the elevator and stomped towards him. Puzzled, he considered what might have her so upset. Gibbs had already given her Café-Pow! today, so that couldn't be it. _Maybe she noticed that the chocolate in her lab was missing… _ He slowly sunk down in his chair, but it was too late. Having spotted him, Abbey made a beeline for his desk.

Deciding to tough it out, he greeted her with a nonchalant, "What's up, Abs?"

"You know perfectly well, Tony," she scowled, obviously frustrated.

"Look Abs, I didn't mean to, really. You just left it sitting out in the open, and it was so tempting—"

"It wasn't just you Tony, no one told me! I had to find out from Ducky—"

"Wait, how does Ducky know I ate your chocolate?"

"What? Wait—That was _you_! I thought for sure it was McGee! How could you?" Abbey was now completely distracted from her earlier vexation. _Oops_.

Tony hurried to stop this tangent of the conversation. "Sorry, sorry! What were you saying about us not telling you something?"

Glaring at him, Abbey burst out, "No one told me that you caught the kid! I wanted to see him!"

"Relax, Abs. He's still here. I don't see why you're so excited. He's not much. I don't like him."

"Well, I like him." Abbey's head whipped around to where Ziva was standing. She walked over to Tony's desk. "But I do not trust him. You just don't like him because he made you look like a fool in interrogation. Personally, I think he's rather funny. But he does seem to have undergone a complete personality change from when we last saw him."

"Aww, I wanted to see that!" Abbey whined.

"You can. In fact, I have the recording right here." Ziva waved a DVD in the air before sliding it into the player beneath the big screen.

"Hey! Not cool, Ziva. Come on," Tony protested. "I won't call in the twenty bucks from our bet if you give that to me."

"Oh? And how do you know that you won?" Ziva questioned.

"Gibbs got it out of Breyger in interrogation. Wasn't hard," he said off-handedly. "Now hand it over."

"Aha, but Tony," Ziva taunted him, waving a finger. "This is quality entertainment, and worth much more than a measly twenty dollars. I think I will be keeping it."

Before they started the show, Abbey turned to Tony and said smugly, "Oh, and by the way Tony, you owe me two pounds of the highest quality chocolate."

* * *

**So there it is. **

**Alex was speaking in traditional Chinese. I needed a language Ziva doesn't speak (They are few and far between). For the part actually typed in Chinese, Alex is basically saying that they need to switch to a different language. The other line is "You never know with the Mossad."**


End file.
